


Like Tiny Fragile Shells

by PercyNeedsTea



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Bois Inc., Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Phil has wings, Phil plays the pipa, Philza thinks back on memories of Wilbur, Philza thinks on everything he could have done better, ahaha, he plays leaves from the vine, he thinks hes failed, its mentioned but its there, on his sons, thats about half the fanfic, the rest is angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PercyNeedsTea/pseuds/PercyNeedsTea
Summary: Rated T for somewhat heavy themes including mentioned death, mild blood, and angst.-He knew he was to blame for that, too. If he had come sooner, there would have never been a war. He would have never had his reunion with his youngest son to be them fighting two Withers his eldest had spawned. He would have never had to watch as his youngest shouted how much he hated his eldest.He would have never had to watch as his youngest broke down with his friend at his side, as his eldest turned a blind eye and walked back to his base.He would have never had to see the life drain from his middle child’s eyes as his body went cold and his blood coated his hands.He would have never had to cry over his son’s corpse in the rubble of his unfinished symphony.orPhil has been thinking about his kids, and he blames himself for everything that went wrong. He plays a song that reminds him of his son, and doesnt notice that someone else is there, playing along.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Like Tiny Fragile Shells

**Author's Note:**

> this was quickly written and i might have gotten a bunch of things wrong but the angst is still there so,
> 
> i did some research to see if the instrument, pipa, is a cultural thing and from what i see its not. if it is, please tell me.

It was Philza’s second day on Dream SMP lands. He still couldn’t believe what had happened the day prior. He knew he was at fault. There was no one to blame but him.

“If only I had paid more attention,” He muttered to himself his first night in new territory. “If only I had been here sooner and talked to him more.”

He knew he was the only one to blame. He could have prevented all of this by showing up sooner. He could have prevented all of this by being there for Wilbur when he needed him most.

He always said he never picked favourites, but looking back on it now, he knew that was a lie. He let Techno do whatever he wanted, including mass murder and fight whoever he wanted to. ‘But that’s just Techno,’ He tried to reason. ‘He has been that way since I first took him in. There was no changing that.’

Even now, as his only other son now hated Techno, Phil still sided with his piglin child. Even as he was told how badly Techno has affected poor Tubbo on Festival Day, he still stayed with his blood-thirsty son. 

Wilbur, poor Wilbur, had no shoulder to cry on. He tried to stay as positive as possible in his dark times in the ravine, but one day he just snapped. He shattered and had no father to turn to.

Tommy, young and strong Tommy, had almost no one. He only had Tubbo as he watched his brother fall apart. Even then, Tubbo was on the enemies side. Sure as a spy, but he still stood alongside Schlatt and smiled. 

Kids should not be in war. Kids should not have to experience the pain of respawn. Kids should not be trying to convince the adults to not destroy their home. Tommy might say he’s not a kid, but everyone knew he was. He and Tubbo were far too young to have to put on armour and fight a tyrant.

He knew he was to blame for that, too. If he had come sooner, there would have never been a war. He would have never had his reunion with his youngest son to be them fighting two Withers his eldest had spawned. He would have never had to watch as his youngest shouted how much he hated his eldest.

He would have never had to watch as his youngest broke down with his friend at his side, as his eldest turned a blind eye and walked back to his base.

He would have never had to see the life drain from his middle child’s eyes as his body went cold and his blood coated his hands.

He would have never had to cry over his son’s corpse in the rubble of his unfinished symphony.

Philza wished he could turn back time, to better days. He remembers Wilbur’s laugh, so loving and care-free. He remembers seeing Techno smile for the first time, as he was gifted his red cape for his 18th birthday. He remembers seeing Tommy’s joy as he talked with Tubbo for the first time, having just taken him in after finding him on the street.

As Phil walked around the healing nation trying to clear his head, he sat down at the base of a tree which had been called “L’mantree”. While the name was sort of rubbish, he could never forget the look on Tommy’s face as he explained to his father the meaning of this tree. He looked happy, saying how this tree represented L’manberg. Wilby himself had named it. Tommy teared up as he mentioned that. It broke Phil’s heart.

Philza began to pluck his instrument to a nonexistent tune. A pipa, is what it was called. A lovely four-stringed instrument capable of producing gorgeous music. Some have described it as heavenly when Philza plays it. He hasn’t played it in a long time, but right now as he held it, he remembers his lost son.

-

The winged man sat on his chair in the living room. He was tuning his pipa as he heard a door open from down the hall. He glanced up and saw Wilbur watching him. The young boy had yet to fully trust the man, and would only leave his room to eat and use the facilities. Philza saw his big eyes, full of curiosity, watch him as he plucked the strings of his pipa.

“What’s that?”

Philza smiled, taking advantage of his question to possibly hold a proper conversation. 

“This is a pipa,” He started. “An old friend of mine gave it to me when we parted ways. It’s a lovely instrument.” He held the pipa properly in his arms. “Would you like to hear a song?”

Wilbur nodded enthusiastically. He sat on the couch closest to Philza and put his chin in his palms, looking up at him with patient eyes.

Philza smiled and began to pluck the strings, putting pressure on the fret’s to change the pitch. His hands flew quickly along the pear-shaped instrument, playing a song his old friend had taught him before he had to leave. He began to sing quietly, lyrics floating through the air as the notes carried them.

Wilbur sat up straight, mesmerized with his voice and instrument. He watched carefully as the blonde’s hands ran up and down the neck of the instrument, creating beautiful notes to accompany his soft voice.

-

That moment had introduced Wilbur to music. Phil was overjoyed, finally feeling a family-like connection to the boy. Wil had taken an interest in stringed instruments, and had found his calling in guitar. The first song he had learned was the song that had started it all.

-

Phil began to play their song. As the notes rang through the air, he began to sing.

_“Leaves from the vine,_

_Falling so slow._

_Like fragile tiny shells_

_Drifting in the foam...”_

As he played notes on his pipa, he heard music from somewhere else. It sounded like it was from the other side of the tree. However, Phil paid it no mind, too stuck in his emotions to care about anyone else who might have been there.

As he began to sing again, another soft, faint voice joined him.

_“Little soldier boy,_

_Come marching home…_

_Brave...Soldier boy,_

_Comes marching home.”_

As his music began to die out, tears began to slip from his eyes. The final note faltered as his hands slipped from his instrument. Phil wiped his eyes with his sleeves, memories of his lost son crashing like a cold ocean against his head. 

If he was paying attention, he would have heard the same soft music from a guitar from earlier continued the song.

As Phil stood up, the music began to finish, slowing down before stopping. He still paid it no attention as he murmured a quiet sorry to his son, and he walked away.

If he was paying attention, he might have noticed the faint outline of a man in a yellow sweater leaned up against the tree. Guitar in his hands, hole in his chest, smile on his face, and tears in his eyes, the spirit slowly stood up to lean against the tree.

_“...It’s okay, dad.”_

He disappeared as a breeze flew through the land, dandelion replacing where he once stood.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope yall enjoyed! im planning on making matching fanart to this story on my Instagram, so pleasae consider checking me out over there! I go under the same username but its all lower case. 
> 
> Remember to drink water, take a break if its been a while, take your meds and have a good day :)
> 
> -percyneedstea


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